I’m breaking the “homes and gardens” rule for a very special post. Holy Smoke is a company that packs your cremated ashes into functioning bullets. Bullets that you can actually shoot at things, nay, at people. Deadly, deadly bullets. Think about that for a second.
That’s right, motherfuckers. I’ll be able to murder some unlucky bastard EVEN THOUGH I’M DEAD. This is the kind of thing I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl. Basically my thought process went like this: Jem and The Holograms, My Little Pony, candy, candy, candy, sandbox, candy, posthumous murder, Strawberry Shortcake, jungle gym, cats.
This pup has 99 problems, and a bitch ain’t one.
Problems 1-50: Cannot locate the floor to lay down.
Problems 51-98: Beggin’ Strips are not real bacon.
Problem 99: Backne.
Ben Garrett is more talented than you are. Who else could take a gaggle of misfit ho-bags and turn them into regal white trash queens? Aside from the producers of Flava Of Love, of course. (That reference is indicative of me being “with it.”)
Click images for larger sizes. Or sometimes for the same size!
Moa Beer is a cherry-flavored “breakfast beer” from New Zealand that, apparently, “ladies can enjoy, too.” Unlike regular beer, which you have to siphon straight to your bladder from your penis.
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via Colin Carter who is a friend of mine in real life
Just let him leave his robe on while you’re humpin’. It totally tickles his sickle.
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Pennant via Stephanie Fisher.
I’m pretty much just posting Clongs so the rest of you will have a bastardized version of The Thong Song stuck in your heads, too. “I like it when the meat goes da na da na… Girl I know you wanna cook with that Clong, Cl- Clong, Clong, Clong.”
(Barking Monkey, please report to the white courtesy phone….)
Carrying this mug around is a surefire way to draw attention to your drinking problem, but to draw attention away from your marijuana-lined jorts and vest made of heroin packets.
Ya’ll know I be straight thuggin’ cuz my mailbox is blowin’ up wit motherfuckin’ heartfelt greetings from my homies, son. They gots mad love fo my ass, for rill. I’m even finna buy summa these for my bitches’ fuckin’ birthdays and anniversaries and fuckin’ Kindergarten graduations and shit, ya heard? I ain’t trippin’… I gots mad stamps at home, ya’ll. MAD stamps. Conveniently located neighborhood post office represent! Aaaaand what?
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via Molly at The Nesting Game
“You got scarecrow on my molester!”
“You got molester on my scarecrow!”
It’s almost Halloween people. If you’re not making a few of these for the front yard, stop wasting your time on the internet. The neighborhood kids aren’t going to fondle themselves.
I like my gang signs like I like my men. Stiff and made of plaster. Wait, what?
